St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1887-12-25
e .NoLSHHN

pretty little village, ABOUT TWO hundred III
habitants, is situated upon lovely level
bench of perhaps one hundred acres square,
yet much lower than its surrounding walls
of bluff. A stairway in three flights leads
past large elevator, and so on down from
the town to the second plateau, sacred to
nice little depot. my stronghold, water
tank, and the narrow steel rails, winding
from east to west of the well-known narrow
gauge division of the Chicago, Milwaukee d
st. Paul road, which is so wondrously
crooked, and which so persistently hugs the
bluffs, and is i'll turn Rugged by the Zumbro
river almost every foot of its length. From
my depot the way is terraced off naturally
in wooded slope, to this water, which never
freezes here, and across which the bluffs
again rise precipitately. AS my Office is
lonely, you see, although not at all of timid
material, dislike remaining at work much
after night falls and the last train has disap-
peared west, and although board with q very
nice family, to carry my writings home
would mean to be constantly interrupted.
Some time hope to get much more time. In
my spare moments now / am engaged on
novel which some day, hope, will be sue
cess.
Through the kindness of Miss HOla
han, the GLOBE is allowed to give to its
readers several of her poetical prOduc-
lions heretofore unpublished. The fol-
lowing quatrain is one of the most
striking compositions i'll the collection:
REMoRsE.
Had but known thy loves deep worth,
And full. unmeasured strainl
Had but dreamt thy careless mirth
Was underlined with painl
Could but know that tears weep
Were not so wholly vainl
If love could 10 thy chill heart creep,
And make it warm again!
All, love, too late realize
A might have BEEN that's deadl
Too late prize thy tender eyes,
When all their light has fledl
All, love. too late my wild caress
Above thy pallid corset
Too late this wealth of tenderness,
These pangs of keen remorse.
In the following poem Miss HOlahan
has turned her fancy loose and has
drawn picture that would not have
discredited the pen of Poe.
PROSPECTUS.
If on my lips thine own should press
The last poor one of many kiss,
Fen tho 'twere sunk in hells abyss,
My soul would rise Dy lnaI careSSl
When past all power for self to weep,
If on my breast thy tears should lay,
Each one must wash some stain away
Assign my soul to CULTS less deepl
If thou tablet DER me placed,
And with the lost was fixed my doom;
My soul would burst its shrouding gloom
To read the words thy love had tracedl
From scourging fire flaring brand
A torch I'd snatch i'll hurried flight;
And clearly by its Pickering light,
Spell out the work of thy pure handi
If on my grave flower should rise,
HAPPY to come and go with years;
NV soul would salt its growth with tears,
To meet those from thy loved eyesl
If that thy life went aught but we'll
If that thy feet away should tread,
Its pain would pierce gates of the dead,
And bring to me double hell!
Or when thy soul was poised for flight
Thro' realms of azure-dazzling clear;
From shadows black around thy bier,
I'd eager watch thy pune delight
When fell the clouds by angels drawn,
'Twixt thou and me for aye and aye,
Ny darkened soul would sadly say:
81 never more may greet the dawn"
Yet glad to know thy future blest
I'd creep from out my hidden lair,
And with q shrek of wild despair
Plunge back to Hades mad unrest.
Yet tho among the damned l be,
And thou in heaven sweet incense burn
If for its mate thy spirit yearn,
Thy grace, know. will set me free.
Here is a pretty tribute to dear one
who has been swept away by death.
TO KATE.
My winsome, witching, white-souled Katel
On memory's tablet still thy face
Stands out alone;
But nearer dear, and clearer grown,
Times whitening finger failed to trace
One line he dared obliterate.
He swept thee from my longing sight;
Thy form he took from my caress;
But to my heart
Its truest and most holy part
Thy spirits presence oft press,
And kiss thy face at dead of night.
For then my soul filings off its chain,
And worldly wisdom sweeps away
know not where;
l know that abandon care
In ether bliss, till dawn of day
Reviyes the bleak, stern facts again!
What oddsi Not in the brain or heart
Lies love like thine or dreams like mine;
From out the soul
Their wondrous thrilling fibers roll;
Like liquid floods of amber wine,
Which in the quaffing yields no smart.
From life's glass, brimmed with bitter tears,
And ashes of burnt love, my Kate
Thy tender eyes
Look out; thy love all time defes,
And moeks at bars Of iron fate
Shut down between our drifting yearsl
Should Miss Holahan continue to
write-as she undoubtedly WILT is
but question of few years when she
will be no small star in the literary firm
ament, and Minnesota will be proud to
.,a;,,t "a hnr o one of its mnSt diStin-